I have to admit, I was stymied this week. I wanted to write, but I just couldn’t find a subject to sink my teeth into. Not to say there aren’t issues that need exploring. Homelessness, food insecurity and rising housing costs are all on my list but I felt something lighthearted was needed.
I went for an afternoon walk in the Inner Harbour. There amid the tourists, vendors and pickle boats I saw him making his way over to the shade for a much needed break. It was Plasterman.
I was nervous to approach him. Like an older version of myself summoning up the courage to talk to Goofy at Disneyland, I didn’t know what to expect. Would he even speak to me? I mean, he’s a living statue and I don’t know how his rules on breaking character.
Sheepishly, I approached and asked if he would like to chat… a question I’m just now realizing could have multiple meanings to a man who has chosen a career in mime. Plasterman smiled, shook my hand, and as vendors popped their popcorn in the background, said yes.
I’ll be the first to admit, that interview is not my best. As I left Plasterman, my mind raced with dozens of further questions I had for him. What does he do in the off season? Is it a good living? Maybe get him to tell a crazy anecdote or two. I shrugged it off and resigned to be back tomorrow better prepared.
I returned to the harbour and found him setting up his podium. I approached with more confidence than the day before, waved and tried to engage. Except now I wasn’t on his time, I was on his audience’s. He didn’t afford me any acknowledgment. Not a word, not a gesture. And I understood why… this guy is a pro.